They took Dick to the house of his relatives, the Careys, in Danville,
and in a few days he learned the sequel of that sudden and terrible
storm of death at Perryville. Buell had gathered all his forces in
the night, and in the morning had intended to attack again, but the
Confederate army was gone, carrying with it vast stores of supplies that
it had gathered on the way.
The rains, too, had come. They had begun the morning after the battle,
and they poured for days. In the southeast, among the mountains toward
which Bragg had turned the head of his army, the roads were quagmires.
Nevertheless he had toiled on and was passing through Cumberland Gap.
Buell had gone in the other direction toward the southwest, and then
came the news that he was relieved of his command, and that Rosecrans
would take his place.
Dick felt the call of the trumpet. He knew that his comrades were now
down there in Tennessee with the army under Rosecrans, and he felt that
he must join them. His mother begged him to stay. He had done enough for
his country. He had fought in great battles, and he had narrowly escaped
a mortal wound. He should come home, and stay safely at Pendleton until
the war was over.
But Dick, though grieving with her, felt that he must go. He would stay
with the army until the end, and he departed for Lexington, where he
took the train for Louisville. Thence he went southward directly by
rail to Bowling Green, where the Northern army was encamped, with
lines stretching as far south as Nashville, and where he received the
heartiest of greetings from his comrades.
“I knew you'd come,” said Warner. “Perhaps a man with a mother like
yours ought to stay at home, and again he ought to come. So there you
are, and here you are!”
Dick was familiar with the country about Bowling Green. It was a part
of the state in which he had relatives, and he had visited it more than
once. He also saw the camps left by Buckner's men nearly a year ago,
when they were marching southward to be taken by Grant at Donelson.
Since he had come back to this region it seemed to him that they were
always fighting their battles over again. Grant and Rosecrans had fought
a terrible but victorious battle at Corinth in Mississippi, and now
Rosecrans had come north while Grant remained in the further south. He
was sorry it was not Grant who commanded on that line. He would have
been glad to be under his command again, to feel that strong and sure
hand on the reins once more.
Dick stayed a while in Bowling Green, and he saw all his relatives in
the little city. They were mostly on the other side, but they could not
resist an ingenuous youth like Dick, and he passed some pleasant hours
with them. For his sake they also made Warner and Pennington welcome,
but they freely predicted a great disaster for the North. Bragg would
come out of East Tennessee with his veterans, and they would give
Rosecrans the defeat that he deserved. The boys held good natured
arguments with them on this point, but all finally agreed to leave it to
the decision of the war itself.
The great dryness had now passed so completely that it seemed impossible
such a thing ever could have been. The rains had been heavy and almost
continuous, and the earth soaked in water. But despite chill winds and
chill rains rumors of Southern activity came to them, and in the
last month of the year Rosecrans gathered his forces at Nashville in
Tennessee.
Dick and his comrades enjoyed a few bright days here. The city was
crowded with an army and those who supply it and live by it, and it was
a center of vivid activity. Dick had letters from his mother and he
also heard in a roundabout way that Colonel Kenton had gone through the
battle of Perryville uninjured and was now with Bragg at Chattanooga.
But the boys soon heard that despite the winter there was great activity
in the Southern camp. Undismayed by their loss of Kentucky, the Southern
generals meant to fight Rosecrans in Tennessee. The Confederacy had
not been cheered by Lee's withdrawal at Antietam and Bragg's retreat at
Perryville, and meant to strike a heavy blow for new prestige. The whole
Confederate army, they soon heard, had moved forward to Murfreesborough,
where it was waiting, while Forrest and Morgan, the famous cavalry
leaders, were off on great raids.
It was this absence of Forrest and Morgan with the best of the cavalry
that put it into the mind of Rosecrans to attack at once. The thousands
of lads in the army who were celebrating Christmas received that night
the news that they were to march in the morning.
“I've fought three great battles this year,” said Warner, “and I don't
think they ought to ask any more of me.”
“Be comforted,” said Dick. “We start to-morrow, the 26th, which leaves
five days of the year, and I don't think we can arrange a battle in that
time. You'll not have to whip Bragg before the New Year, George.”
“Well, I'm glad of it. You can have too many battles in one year. I
didn't get rest enough after my wound at the Second Manassas before I
had to go in and save our army at Antietam, and then it was but a little
time before we fought at Perryville. That wasn't as big a battle as some
of the others, but Dick, for those mad three hours it seemed that all
the demons of death were turned loose.”
“It certainly looked like it, George, you stiff old Vermonter, and I
don't forget that you came to save me.”
“Shut up about that, or I'll hit you over the head with the butt of my
pistol. I merely paid back, though I only paid about half of what I
was owing to you. The chance luckily came sooner than I had hoped. But,
Dick, what a morning to follow Christmas.”
A chilly rain was pouring down. A cold fog was rising from the
Cumberland, wrapping the town in mists. It was certainly a dreary time
in which to march to battle, and the young soldiers rising in the gloom
of the dawn and starting amid such weather were depressed.
“Pennington,” said Warner, “will you help me in a request to our
Kentucky friend to join us in three cheers for the Sunny South, the edge
of which he has the good fortune to inhabit? I haven't seen the real sun
for about a month, and I suppose that's why they call it sunny, and I'm
informed that this big river, the Cumberland, often freezes over, which
I suppose is the reason why they call it Southern. I hear, too, that
people often freeze to death in North Georgia, which is further south
than this. After this bit of business is over I'm going to forbid winter
campaigns in the south.”
“It does get mighty cold,” said Dick. “You see we're not really a
southern people. We just lie south of the northern states and in
Kentucky, at least, we have a lot of cold weather. Why, I've seen it
twenty-three degrees below zero in the southern part of the state, and
it certainly can get cold in Tennessee, too.”
“I believe I'd rather have it than this awful rain,” said Pennington. “I
don't seem to get used to these cold soakings.”
“Good-bye, Nashville,” said Dick, turning about. “I don't know when
we will have to come back, and if we do I don't know what will have
happened before then. Good-bye, Nashville. I regret your roofs and your
solid walls, and your dry tents and floors.”
“But we're going forth to fight. Don't forget that, Dick. Remember how
in Virginia we pined for battle, and the use of our superior numbers.
Anyhow Rosecrans is going out to look for the enemy, but all the same,
and between you and me, Dick, I wish it was Grant who was leading us. I
saw a copy of the New York Times a while back, and some lines in it are
haunting me. Here they are:
“Back from the trebly crimsoned field
Terrible woods are thunder-tost:
Full of the wrath that will not yield,
Full of revenge for battles lost:
Hark to their echo as it crost
The capital making faces wan:
End this murderous holocaust;
Abraham Lincoln give us a man.”
“Sounds good,” said Dick, “and, George, you and Frank and I know that
what we want is a man. We've lost big battles, because we didn't have a
big man, who could see at once and think like lightning, to lead us. But
we'll get him sooner or later! We'll get him. Did any other troops ever
bear up like ours under defeats and drawn battles? Listen to 'em now!”
Slow and deep and sung by many thousand men rose the rolling chorus:
“The army is gathering from near and from far;
The trumpet is sounding the call for the war;
Old Rosey's our leader, he's gallant and strong;
We'll gird on our armor and be marching along.”
“Now,” cried Warner, “all together.” And the thundering chorus rose:
“Marching, we are marching along,
Gird on the armor and be marching along;
Old Rosey's our leader, he's gallant and strong;
For God and our country we are marching along.”
As the mighty chorus, sung by fifty thousand men, rose and throbbed
through the cold and rain, Dick felt his own heart throbbing in unison.
Rosecrans might or might not be a great general, but he certainly
was not permitting the enemy to rest easy in winter quarters at
Murfreesborough. Dick had no doubt that they were about to meet the foe
of Perryville face to face again.
The enemies were largely the same as those of other battles in the west.
The Northern army advanced in three divisions toward Murfreesborough.
McCook, whose division contained the Winchester regiment, was in the
center, General Thomas led the right wing on the Franklin road, and
General Crittenden led the left wing. Bragg who was before them had
nearly the same generals as at Shiloh, Hardee, Breckinridge, and the
others.
Dick knew that the advance of the Northern army would be seen at once.
This was the country of the enemy. The forces of the Union held only
the ground on which they were camped. Thousands of hostile eyes were
watching Rosecrans, and, even if Bragg himself were lax, any movement
by the army from Nashville would be reported at once to the army in
Murfreesborough. But they had a vigilant foe, they knew, and they
expected to encounter his pickets soon.
“They're probably watching us now through the fog and rain,” said
Colonel Winchester to Dick as they left the last house of Nashville
behind. “They know every inch of these hills and valleys.”
It was not a great distance to Murfreesborough, but they found the
marching slow. The feet of the horses sank deep in the mud and the
cannon and wagons were almost mired. But despite mud and rain and cold,
the army pressed bravely on. They were the same lads and their like who
had marched forward so hopefully to Donelson and Shiloh. Through the
rain and the soughing of wheels in the mud rolled their battle songs,
sung with all the spirit and fire of youth.
Colonel Winchester and all the officers helped with the cannon and
wagons and soon they were covered with mud. The Winchester regiment
was in the lead, and Sergeant Whitley suddenly pointing with a thick
forefinger, said:
“There are the Johnnies! Their pickets are waiting for us!”
Dick saw through the mist and rain a considerable body of men down the
road, most of them on horseback. He knew at once that they were Southern
pickets, and the eager lads around him, seeing them, knew it, too.
Not waiting for command they set up a shout and charged down the road.
Rifles instantly flashed through the rain and a sharp fire met them. Men
fell, but others pressed on with all the more zeal, seeing just beyond
the Southern pickets the roofs of a little town. Cannon shot also
whizzed among them, indicating that the Southern pickets were in strong
force.
But the Northern troops, full of vigor and zeal, swept back the pickets
and charged directly upon a larger force in the town beyond. A short
and fierce battle for the possession of the village ensued, but this was
only a Southern outpost, and it was not strong enough to withstand the
rush of the Ohio men and Winchester's regiment. Fighting at every step
they retreated through the village and into the forest beyond, leaving
one of their cannon in the hands of the Union troops.
“An omen of victory,” exclaimed Dick, when he saw the captured cannon.
“Careful, Dick! Careful!” said Warner. “Remember that you're not strong
on omens. You're always seeing sure signs of success just before we go
into a big battle.”
“If Dick sees visions, and they're visions of the right kind, then he's
right,” said Pennington. “I'd a good deal rather go into battle with
Dick by my side singing a song of victory, than croaking of defeat.”
“That's good as a general proposition,” said Warner, “but I was merely
cautioning him not to be too enthusiastic. What kind of a country, Dick,
is this into which we are going?”
“Hilly, lots of forests, particularly of cedar, and brooks, creeks and
rivers. Murfreesborough itself is right on Lytle's Creek. Bragg will
meet us at the line of Stone River.”
“Maybe they'll retreat and go eastward to Chattanooga,” said Pennington.
“I think we'd better dismiss that 'maybe,'” said Dick. “You haven't
heard of the rebels running away from battles, have you?”
“What I've generally seen, in the beginning at least,” said Warner, “is
the rebels running toward us, jumping out of the woods and yelling like
Indians. I have seldom found it a pleasant sight. I'm glad, too, Dick,
that Stonewall Jackson isn't here. Do you see that big cedar forest over
there on the hillside? Suppose he should come rushing out of it with
twenty or twenty-five thousand men.”
“Stop,” said Pennington. “You give me the shivers, talking about
Stonewall Jackson swooping down on us with an army corps, when happily
he's four or five hundred miles away. I'm seeing enough unfriendly
faces as it is. Look how the people in this village are glaring at us.
Fellows, I've decided after due consideration that they don't love us
here in Tennessee. If you were to ask me I'd say that blue was not their
favorite color.”
“At any rate we don't stay long. Good-bye, friends, good-bye,” said
Warner, waving his hand toward two or three men who stood in the door of
an old blacksmith shop.
“You laugh, young feller,” said a gnarled and knotted old man past
eighty, “an' mebbe it's as well for you to laugh while you have the time
to do it in. Mebbe you'll never come back from Stone River, an' if
you do, an' if you win everywhere, remember that we, too, will yet win
everywhere.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“All the Yankees, whether they win or not, will have to go back north,
except them that are dead, an' we'll be here right on top of the lan',
livin' on it, an' runnin' it, same as we've always done.”
“I hadn't thought of that,” said Warner soberly.
“There's a power of things the young don't think of,” said the ancient
man. “Mebbe the South can be whipped, but she can't be moved. She'll
always be here. People hev made a war. I don't know who started it. I
reckon there's been some powerful mean an' hot talk on both sides. I
knowed great men that seed this very thing comin' long ago an' tried
to stop it. I went over in Kentucky more than once an' heard Henry Clay
speak. I don't believe there was ever another such a talker as he was.
He had sense an' knowledge as well as voice. He done his best to smooth
over this quarrel between North and South that others was eggin' on all
the time, but he couldn't, and I reckon when Henry Clay, the greatest
man God ever made, failed, it wasn't worth while for anybody else
to try. Ride on, young fellers, an' get yourselves killed. You ain't
twenty, an' I'm over eighty, but I guess I'll be lookin' at the green
trees when you're under the ground. Ride on in the rain an' the cold,
an' I'll go inside the shop an' warm myself by the forge fire.”
The three boys rode on in sober silence. The words of the ancient
philosopher were soaking in with the rain.
“Suppose we don't come back from Stone River,” said Pennington.
“We take our chances, of course,” said Dick.
“And suppose what he said about the South should prove true,” said
Warner, thoughtfully. “One part of it, at least, is bound to come true.
That phrase of his sticks in my mind: 'Mebbe the South can be whipped,
but she can't be moved.' The Southern states, as he says, will be here
just the same after the war is over, no matter who wins.”
But such thoughts as these could not endure long in minds so young. They
passed through the village and soon were in the forests of red cedar.
The rain ceased, but in its place came a thick and heavy fog. The mud
grew deeper than ever. Progress became very slow. It was difficult
in the great foggy veil for the regiments to keep in touch with one
another, and occasional shots in front warned them that the enemy was
active and watchful. The division barely crept along.
Dick and his comrades were mounted again, and they kept close to Colonel
Winchester, who, however, had few orders to send. The command of the
corps rested with General McCook, and it behooved him as any private
could see, to exercise the utmost caution. They were strangers in the
land and the Confederates were not.
Dick had thought that morning that they would get into touch with heavy
forces of the enemy before night, but the fog and the mud rendered their
advance so slow that at sunset they went into camp in a vast forest of
red cedar, still a good distance from Stone River. The fog had lifted
somewhat, but the night was heavy, damp and dark. There was an abundance
of fallen wood, and the veterans soon built long rows of fires which
contributed wonderfully to their cheerfulness.
“There's nothing like a fine fire on a cold, dark night,” said Sergeant
Whitley, holding his hands over the flames. “Out on the plains when
there was only a hundred or so of us, an' nothin' on any side five
hundred miles away 'xcept hostile Indians, an' a blizzard whistlin' an'
roarin', with the mercury thirty degrees below zero, it was glorious to
have a big fire lighted in a hollow or a dip an' bend over the coals,
until the warmth went right through you.”
“It was the power of contrast,” said Warner sagely. “The real comfort
from the fire was fifty per cent and the howling of the icy gale, in
which you might have frozen to death, but didn't, was fifty per cent
more. That's why I'm feeling so good now, although I'd say that those
red cedars and their dark background are none too cheerful.”
“I've got two good blankets,” said Pennington, who was returning from a
trip further down the line, “and I'm going to sleep. Haven't you fellows
learned that all your foolish talking before a battle never changes
the result? I can tell you this. Our three divisions that are marching
toward Murfreesborough are in touch. We've put out swarms of scouts and
they all tell us so. They know exactly where the enemy is, too, and he's
too far away to surprise us to-night. So it's sleep, my boys, sleep.
Sleep will recover for you so much strength that it will be much harder
for you to get killed on the morrow.”
Dick had dried himself very thoroughly before one of the fires, and
wrapping himself in his two blankets he slept soundly and heavily. There
was fog again the next morning, but they reached a little village
called Triune and all through the day they heard the sounds of scattered
firing. One of the scouts told Colonel Winchester that the whole
Southern army would be concentrated the next day on the line of Stone
River, but that it would be inferior to the Union army in numbers by ten
thousand men. Bragg's force, however, had the advantage of experience,
being composed almost wholly of veterans.
It was on the afternoon of this day that Dick came into personal contact
with General Thomas again. He had been sent through the cedar forest
with dispatches to him from General McCook, and after the general had
read them he glanced at the messenger.
“You reached General Buell safely with my letter, Lieutenant Mason,” he
said, “and I'm very glad to see you here with us again.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Dick, feeling an immense pride because this man,
whom he admired so much, remembered him.
“It was a difficult duty and you did it well. I found that you got
through safely. I made inquiries about you and I traced you as far as
Shiloh, but I could get no further.”
“I was at Shiloh,” said Dick proudly. “I was captured just before it
began, but I escaped while it was at its height and fought until the
close.”
“And after that?”
“My regiment was sent east, sir. I went with it through the Second
Manassas and Antietam. Then we came back west to help General Buell. I
was at Perryville and was wounded there, but I soon got well.”
“Perryville was a terrible battle. It was short, but it is incredible
with what fury the troops fought. We should do better here.”
Dick saw that the last sentence which was spoken in a low tone was not
addressed to him. It was merely a murmured expression of the general's
own thoughts, and he remained silent.
“You can go now, Lieutenant Mason,” said General Thomas, after a few
moments, “and let us together wish for the best.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Dick, highly flattered again. Then he saluted and
retired.
He rode back somewhat slowly through the cedars, but he kept a wary eye.
The enemy's cavalry was daring, and he might be rushed by them at any
time or be ambushed by sharpshooters on foot. His watch for the enemy
also enabled him to examine the country closely. He saw many hills and
hollows covered mostly with forests, with the red cedar and its dark
green boughs predominating. He also saw the flash of many waters, and,
where the roads cut through the soil, a deep red clay was exposed to
view. He knew that it would be difficult for the armies to get into
line for battle, because of the heavy, sticky nature of the ground, upon
which so much rain had fallen.
He made his way safely back to the camp of his corps, although he saw
hostile cavalry galloping in the valleys in the direction of Stone
River, and all through the afternoon he heard the crackle of rifle shots
in the same direction. The skirmishers were continually in touch and
they were busy.
The corps moved up a little, but Dick thought it likely that there would
be no battle the next day either. Rosecrans could not afford to attack
until his full force, with all its artillery, was up, and marching was
slow and exhausting in the sea of sticky mud.
Dick was right. The Northern army was practically united the next day,
but so great was the exhaustion of the troops that Rosecrans did not
deem it wise yet to attack his foe. He was fully aware of the quality
of the Southern soldiers. He remembered how they had turned suddenly
at Perryville and with inferior numbers had fought a draw. Now on the
defensive, and in such a deep and sticky soil, they would have a great
advantage and his generals agreed with him in waiting.
Dick spent much of this day in riding with Colonel Winchester along
their lines. There was some talk about Bragg retreating, but the boy,
a veteran in everything but years, knew the ominous signs. Bragg had no
notion of retreating.
In the night that followed Colonel Winchester himself and some of his
young officers, accompanied by the brave and skillful Sergeant Whitley,
scouted toward Stone River. In the darkness and with great care, in
order to avoid any sound of splashing, they waded a deep creek and came
out upon a plateau, rolling slightly in character, and with a deep clay
soil, very muddy from the heavy rains. A part of the plateau was cleared
of forest, but here and there were groves, chiefly of the red cedar,
and thickets, some of them so dense that a man would have difficulty in
forcing his way through.
Colonel Winchester and his little group paused at the edge of the creek,
and then dived promptly into a thicket. They saw further up the plateau
many fires and the figures of men walking before them and they saw
nearer by sentinels marching back and forth. They were even able to make
out cannon in batteries, and they knew that it was not worth while to go
any further. The Confederate army was there, and they would merely walk
directly into its arms.
They returned with even greater caution than they had come, but the next
day the whole division crossed the creek at another point, and as it
cautiously felt its way forward it encountered another formidable body
of Southern pickets hidden in the woods. There was sharp firing for a
quarter of an hour, and many of the Ohio men fell, but the pickets were
finally swept back, and at sunset the half circle that Rosecrans had
intended to form for the attack upon the Southern army was complete.
All the movements and delays brought them up to the night before the
last day in the year. The Winchester regiment with the Ohio division lay
in a region of little hills and rocks, covered with forest, with which
its officers and men were not familiar. On the other hand the Southern
army would know every inch of it, and the inhabitants were ready and
eager to give it information.
Dick could not keep from regarding the dark forests with apprehension.
He had seen the Northern generals lose so much through ignorance of the
ground and uncertain movements that he feared for them again. He soon
learned that Rosecrans himself shared this fear. He had come to the
division and recommended its closer concentration.
But the young Ohio troops were not afraid. They said that if they were
attacked they would hold their ground long enough for the rest of the
Northern army to beat the Southern, and McCook himself was confident.
Meanwhile, Bragg, after delaying, had suddenly decided to make the
attack himself, and throughout the day he had been gathering his whole
army for the spring. All his generals, Hardee, Breckinridge, Polk,
Cleburne and the rest were in position and the cavalry was led by
Wheeler, a youthful rough rider, destined to become famous as Fighting
Joe Wheeler.
Each general was ready to attack in the morning, but neither knew the
willingness of the other. Yet everybody was aware that a great battle
was soon to come. They had felt it in both armies, and for two or three
days the firing of the skirmishers had been almost continuous. Scouts
kept each side well informed.
Dick, Warner and Pennington, before they lay down in their blankets,
listened to the faint reports of rifles. They could see little owing
to the deep woods in which they lay, but the sound of the shots came
clearly.
“A part of our army is to cross the fords of Stone River in the morning
by daylight or before,” said Warner, “and we're to surprise the enemy
and rush him. I wonder if we'll do it.”
“We will not,” said Pennington with emphasis. “We may beat the enemy,
but we will not surprise him. We never do. Why should we surprise him?
He is here in his own country. If the whole Southern army were sound
asleep, a thousand of the natives would wake up their generals and tell
them that the Yankee army was advancing.”
“Their sentinels are watching, anyhow,” said Dick, “but I imagine that
we'd gain something if the first rush was ours and not theirs.”
“We'll hope for the best,” said Warner, “I wonder whose time this will
be to get wounded. It was mine at Antietam, yours, Dick, at Perryville,
and only you are left Pennington, so it's bound to be you.”
“No, it won't be me,” said Pennington stoutly. “I've been wounded in two
or three battles already, not bad wounds, just scratches and bruises,
but as there were so many of 'em you can lump 'em together, and make one
big wound. That lets me out.”
The Winchester regiment lay in the very thickest of the forest and in
order not to indicate to the enemy their precise position no fires were
lighted. The earth was still soaked deep with the heavy rains and their
feet sank at every step. But they did not make many steps. They had
learned enough to lie quiet, seek what rest and sleep they could find,
and await the dawn.